Through the Looking Glass
by Lil black dog
Summary: As Kirk contemplates the extermination of a million colonists on Deneva, he reflects on the decision Kodos made on Tarsus.


_**Through the Looking Glass**_

_It was hot and dusty, the air thick and oppressive, the sweat pooling in the small of his back. Grime, kicked up in swirling eddies from the procession of hundreds of feet below, clung to his damp neck, leaving dirty streaks behind as the sweat dripped onto the parched ground. A cloud of tiny insects hovered over him, buzzing insistently, drawn to the salt and moisture. They were on a bluff overlooking a small clearing. He lay on his stomach in the tall grass, Tom Leighton beside him, squinting through the binoculars at the scene below, the view distorted, shimmering, surreal, as the heat waves rippled and danced in the noon-day glare. _

"_Jimmy, what's going on? What do you see?" his companion whispered hoarsely._

"_About a dozen guards, armed with laser rifles. Marching everyone into the building." _

_There were women, children, whole families—parents trying to console children who were crying, unaware of the magnitude of what was to come, but uneasy and upset nevertheless. The adults knew what was happening, of course. Kodos had seen to that. His announcement left little doubt as to what fate awaited those deemed 'unworthy' of survival. And the procession continued mercilessly on._

_His mind raced. "We must find a way to help them, stop this before it's too late." But what could he do—he and Tom were the only ones here at the moment, and they were unarmed. He watched helplessly, biting his lip to stop the anguished cry in his throat. To be helpless, unable to stop the tragedy unfolding before him, was almost more than he could bear…_

Kirk's head snapped up, his breathing harsh and ragged, the sweat which had beaded on his brow trickling into his eyes. After a moment of disorientation, he realized he was in his cabin, slumped over his desk. _So tired, and yet no time to rest._

They were in orbit around Deneva, Sam and Aurelan gone, Spock and his nephew Peter infected by the creatures, Peter unconscious, Spock being slowly driven mad by the pain. They were no closer now to knowing how to destroy the parasites while preserving their human hosts than they had been twelve hours ago. And they were running out of time. The organisms were forcing the Denevans to build ships—ships capable of taking them into the most heavily populated sector of the galaxy. He could not let that happen, could not allow these parasites, who controlled their hosts through excruciating pain, to spread beyond Deneva, even if it meant destroying the entire colony—over a million people—in order to do so.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache he knew was imminent.

_Was this how Kodos felt when faced with the prospect of killing some in an attempt to save others? Was he only trying to do what he thought was right to save some of the colonists on Tarsus IV, to prevent certain death for all? _ _Was he really the monster I always believed him to be?_

He had only been thirteen when it happened. A fungus had destroyed all but a small portion of the available food for the colony of eight thousand. Supply ships were at least a month away, and without adequate resources it meant certain, slow starvation for the vast majority of the population.

Governor Kodos had declared martial law, deciding that half the population would have to be sacrificed in order to give the other half a better chance at survival. He remembered Kodos' statement, broadcast to the entire colony:

_The revolution is successful, but survival depends on drastic measures. Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony; therefore I have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered. Signed __Kodos, Governor of Tarsus IV._

_Did he feel that was his only course of action? Had he considered other alternatives before mercilessly ordering the extermination of four thousand individuals? Did the choice weigh heavily on him? Or did he see it as a necessary action to preserve what lives he could? Had he done this with calm and decisive indifference, or did the decision force Kodos to search his soul, as it was now doing to him?_

At the time, Jimmy had been incensed at what he saw. People by the hundreds disappearing into buildings, never to come out. They may have died painlessly, but that didn't change the fact that they had died. Even though he was not one of the colonists marked for execution, he had escaped from the main camp, helping to hide others who were—altogether a group of about twenty individuals: some adults, some children, all of whom had watched someone, or in some cases a number of people they loved, die.

And now he was faced with just such a choice. For him, it didn't make it any easier that they would die painlessly, or that Starfleet would not prosecute him for this decision, as they had wanted to do to Kodos when the supply ships arrived two weeks early. It was his responsibility, his duty, to ensure that the creatures didn't spread beyond Deneva. And he knew with absolute certainty he would have to use whatever means necessary to make sure that didn't happen. It didn't make the choice less painful at all. It still meant the death of over a million people. Deaths that would ultimately be on his hands…

He felt the bile rising in his throat, acrid and sour, and swallowed quickly, repeatedly, gulping great lungfuls of air through his nose in an effort to ease the nausea. His palms were sweating, heart pounding painfully in his chest. If this was the only option, could he do it? Could he order the destruction of a million people to save billions? If he did this, could he live with himself afterward, even knowing it had to be done, that, in the end, there was no other option? Even at thirteen, he had felt that Kodos' decision was morally wrong. One could not willfully choose to take some lives in an effort to save others. He recalled a conversation he had had with a member of their small band of refugees one evening, huddled in a cave, as they attempted to evade capture:

"_How could he have made that decision?" His face felt flushed, head bobbing slightly as he emphasized the words, hair falling into his eyes. "How can it be right to kill four thousand in order to save four thousand? There must have been another way. I know I would have found another way—or died trying!"_

_Daniel, one of the adults hiding with the ragtag group, whose wife and three children had been among the first wave of colonists to die, attempted to help him make sense of events nonetheless. Jimmy was just a kid; he shouldn't have to be questioning the morality of such issues at his age. How do you explain the mindset and deeds of a madman to a child? And yet Daniel had tried to do just that, trying to ease his pain and help him understand an incomprehensible situation. Years later, Jim wondered how he had managed it, given the personal losses Daniel had suffered at the time._

"_Sometimes in life, Jimmy, we are faced with impossible choices. Adults, and more specifically, those in power who have the responsibility to decide, seek to find what they think is the best option when dealing with the impossible…"_

"_Are you saying he was right?" He felt the anger burn again, the helplessness, the sheer frustration. "How can you possibly agree with that choice? You lost everyone, everything that mattered to you." His breath caught, and he barely managed to suppress a sob as he thought of his aunt and cousin, who had been slated for termination as well. They had died in the third wave._

"_No, of course I don't think he was right! How could I? But in his mind, he must have believed it was his only choice—give some a chance to survive, when there was no hope of all surviving. It cost me everything…"_

"_But Dan, there's always hope," Jimmy replied desperately, "There has to be. You have to try and find another way, otherwise there is no reason to live."_

Another conversation came to mind unbidden: on his ship, twenty years later, with the man now known as Anton Karidian: a Shakespearean actor traveling with an acting troupe, touring throughout the galaxy. With Spock's help, the two of them had later proven that he was, in fact, Kodos the Executioner.

"_This Kodos of yours made a decision of life and death. Some had to die that others might live." Smugly. "You're a man of decision, Captain. You ought to understand that."  
_

"_All I understand is that four thousand people were needlessly butchered," he ground out harshly, hands balled into fists at his side.  
_

"_In order to save four thousand others." Angry now. "And if the supply ships hadn't come earlier than expected, this Kodos of yours might have gone down in history as a great hero."  
_

"_But he didn't." Softly. "And history has made its judgment."  
_

He would not be Kodos. He could not let this spread beyond Deneva, and yet killing a million people was not a tenable option. There had to be another way. He would not let that happen—to the colonists on Deneva, to his crew who would have to carry out the order, to him. He would find that third alternative, no matter what it took. _As Spock is so fond of saying, "there are always alternatives, Jim."_ Well, he'd be damned if he didn't find one. One life, let alone a million, was too high a price. And more than he was willing to pay.

Decision made, he rose swiftly to his feet, storming out of his quarters on his way to the briefing room. He'd given Spock and McCoy an hour, and now he wanted that third alternative, that way to turn death into a fighting chance. He did not believe in the no-win scenario. The words of that wide-eyed thirteen-year-old who had lost his innocence on Tarsus tickled the edge of his mind: _there is always hope…_He would not fail; he could not fail; he must not fail. He was not Kodos, and he would find the answer.


End file.
